


morgana

by thepensword



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: :3:3:3, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, F/M, Gen, Kinda, M/M, discord friends know where i'm going with this and i'd like to thank them for enabling me, i can't tag much without giving it away but this is a big thing, relationship and character tags will be updated as they appear, this is a monster of a fic guys im excited
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-09
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2019-07-28 17:23:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16246322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepensword/pseuds/thepensword
Summary: Taako's life is calm and warm and completely boring. He has his sister, he has Angus, and he has a steady life where everything's fine. But that's all it is. Fine. It's never exciting or interesting, just constant, mind-numbing fine-ness.Enter Kravitz.(Or: Not Another Modern AU)





	1. serenity

**Author's Note:**

> fic warnings will be included on a chapter basis in the notes at the start of each chapter because i absolutely cannot be giving spoilers for this fic. 
> 
> also hey guys! i've been planning this for like two whole months and i'm REALLY excited about it. this is my masterpiece. my mona lisa. my magnum opus. 
> 
> will this have a consistent update schedule? absolutely not i'm very busy but if you follow me on [tumblr](https://thepensword.tumblr.com) you might get progress updates.
> 
> that's all! enjoy! 
> 
> **chapter warnings **: feelings of unreality, mentions of past trauma****
> 
> EDIT 7/9/19: heeeeeey folks i'm older and wiser now and somewhat iffy about the writing at the start of this. i've edited a few small details that made me cringe when i reread them, but i'm not going to rework the whole chapter. bear with me, though! quality of writing will continue to improve.

Life is simple when you’re Taako.

It wasn’t always simple. First, it was bad, and then it was exciting, and then it was horrific. But it has always, always been complicated. Not anymore, though. Now it’s simple. Taako has been very careful to keep it simple.

It helps to have roots. Before, Lup was his only root, and then she left for a while and that’s when shit hit the fan, but now she’s back and he’s grounded. Even better, he’s starting to branch out; there’s Angus, and there’s his job, and there’s Magnus and Merle and all the others that he’d call friends but never to their faces, and things are simple. Easy.

But _boring,_ too. Taako scowls first at the bottle of dye in his hand and then at the woman sitting in the chair before him, waiting for him to add more chemical damage to her already dry and damaged hair. She’s not the first of her kind, either; the salon is full of women with hair styled just like hers. Not that there's really anything wrong with that. It's just...

Taako really thought working at a beauty salon would be more exciting. He thought he’d be designing stylish updos and painting extravagant makeup onto lovely faces. He thought he’d have the chance to make beautiful people look ethereal.

Instead, Taako works all day to make ordinary people look more ordinary. He doesn’t get it. He really doesn’t. Taako wakes up an hour early every day to carefully braid his long golden curls and pick out just the right outfit for the day, from the warmth of the socks to the perfect tone of the faux-gemstones in his earrings that glitter the same color as his turquoise eyes. Taako is beautiful and he works hard to make himself look unique, from the blue dye at the tips of his hair to the golden nose ring he wears every day, and to see customer after customer come in asking to be made more ordinary is baffling. It’s almost an insult to the fantastic uniqueness of each individual. Why would anyone ever want to fade into the crowd?

Well. Taako _should_ want to fade into the crowd. It would be the smart thing to do. It’s why he grows his curls long and why he paints over his freckles and why he doesn’t wear his hair its natural dark brown anymore. It's why maybe he wears his uniqueness and his beauty like they're masks.

Everyone makes mistakes. Sometimes, those mistakes follow you forever.

It sucks, but Taako’s learned to deal with. Or he’s learning, just like he’s learning how to not start throwing things every time another person comes to him, smiles politely into the mirror, and asks for “just a trim”.

 _Don’t you know that’s boring?_ Taako wants to yell. _You get ‘just a trim’ every single fucking time!_

He channels his anger into the snapping of the scissors, watches it fall to the floor with the wiry, dye-ruined hair clippings. He watches it leave with the sweep of a coworker’s broom and feels it simmering just beneath the surface, just beyond that straight line of just-below-the-shoulder hair on every woman he works on. Sometimes he wishes he could just shave it all off, wonders if that would get rid of the anger and the frustration and the desire to scream at the sky.

But Taako is trying to fade into the crowd, so he smiles blandly at Oh-Just-A-Trim #12 and puts away his scissors. He brushes the hair from his clothes, puts on his favorite floral jacket, and lets the door to the salon swing shut behind him.

Taako stops just outside and closes his eyes. His lungs are full of hairspray and shampoo and he lets that all out onto the pavement, fills himself back up with the smell of early fall. There’s a coffee shop on the corner and it’s making the air taste like pumpkin spice, so Taako heads that direction. It’s been a long day and he deserves it, he decides, even if the scones there are chalky.

Taako orders a medium pumpkin spice latte (shut up) and a chalky blueberry scone and finds a table outside. He sits down and looks up at the blue, blue sky and wonders if he’s even real.

He does that a lot. Wonder if he’s real, that is. Sometimes he thinks he should see a therapist about it but the thought seems too private, somehow. It’s not hurting him, anyway. It’s not like he has any desire to test it. If he’s not real, he doesn’t want to shatter the illusion.

He does wish he knew why he feels that way, though. Maybe it’s the fading into the crowd. Maybe it’s the running from his shadow. Maybe it’s the past mistakes clinging to him like silly string on New Year’s.

His phone vibrates. Taako taps the screen and glances down at the message; it’s from Lup, of course.

_im covering for alex again_

_ill be late dont freak out_

_im fine_

_see u tonight ily_ ♥ 

“Whatever,” says Taako, and texts back the letter k. He finishes his coffee and his scone and he leaves the cafe and he heads home, back to his empty apartment where Lup isn’t, where Angus isn’t. It’s whatever. Taako’s a grown man. He can handle being alone for a little while.

(He doesn’t want to be.)

 

* * *

 

 

Angus is a very, very smart boy.

He skipped several grades and went to college at age twelve. Except most colleges don’t want a twelve-year-old who can’t really pay, so they said to come back when he’s older and maybe they’ll give him a scholarship. Most kids his age might take this chance to do absolutely nothing for the years until he’s old enough for said scholarship, but Angus isn’t most kids, so he starts on his associates degree at a nearby community college and applies for an internship to pay his tuition.

Only one professor is willing to take on a twelve-year-old intern. The professor in question is a plain-looking man with glasses and a liking for denim; the professor, aptly enough, is named Barry Bluejeans.

“It was a joke on my birth certificate,” says Barry. “Except we never got it changed back.”

Professor Bluejeans is a nice man with salt-and-pepper hair and tired eyes that sparkle with knowledge. He smiles at Angus and answers all his question without watering down the explanations and treats him like an adult, like a colleague, and not at all like a little boy. Angus likes that a lot. He’s quite tired, really, of being treated like he’s some dumb kid.

The students, too, learn not to understimate Angus. Sure, they don’t all exactly _love_ getting homework help from a kid who’s voice hasn’t even dropped yet, but most of them learn to swallow their pride and whatever comments they might have and accept the help.

Most of them. Some of them are rude to him. Angus goes to Barry about these, and Barry gives them extra homework on the downlow. “See how they like drawing organic molecules from memory,” he says. (They haven’t yet covered organic chemistry this semester.) “Maybe they’ll wish they had your help.” And then he’ll grin, and Angus will try to make his giggle sound less like a giggle and more like a grown person’s laugh (he always fails) and Barry will ruffle his hair and tell him to get on home, see you tomorrow, be safe walking back, kid.

Angus loves his life.

It wasn’t always like this. There was a time before Barry, a time before home, a time before Taako and Lup, but he tries not to think about it too much. It wasn’t pleasant. There weren't any friendly hair-tussles or giggling over difficult homework questions or chocolate cookies baking in the oven at midnight. There wasn’t much in the way of love or home.

But that was then. This is now. Now, Angus walks home along the maple-lined streets. The leaves are starting to turn, and Angus knows in a few weeks the whole town will be awash in orange and yellow and brown. Angus loves the fall. It’s full of apple cider and pumpkins and strolls through the paint-splatter park in the crisp, fresh air.

The walk home is safe. It’s always safe. It’s the late afternoon and Angus passes couples walking hand in hand and people with dogs and shopkeepers starting to close up. There’s more people out than usual; Angus attributes this to the freshness of the air and the blueness of the sky, just singing for people to come out and experience it firsthand.

Angus loves the fall.

The door is open when he gets home. The sound of things clanging in the kitchen drift down the hallway and inside, someone is humming MIKA. Taako must be home. Angus smiles and walks inside.

The humming stops. “Angus?” calls Taako.

“Yep!” Angus kicks off his shoes and hangs up his jacket. He grabs his red sweater off the living room couch on the way to the kitchen and pulls it over his head; it’s too big for him, and smells like dogs. It used to be Magnus’. It’s Angus’ favorite sweater. “What are you making, sir?”

Taako turns towards him as he enters the kitchen and shoves a wooden spoon in his face. “Scones,” he says. “Pumpkin. Also, don’t call me sir.”

“With chocolate chips?”

“Natch,” scoffs Taako. “What do you think I am, some sort of monster?”

Angus giggles and tastes the spoon. It tastes like cinnamon and uncooked flour. It tastes like all his hopes and dreams. “ _Mmmm_.”

“No good, huh?” jokes Taako. “See, the plan was to share them with the fellas, but if they’re so terrible we can’t possibly give them away, hm? Guess we’ll just have to eat them all ourselves, what do you think?”

“It’s a tragedy, sir” says Angus. Taako shoots him a look at the honorific, but Angus ignores it. Old habits die hard, and Angus spent a childhood walking on glass shards.

He runs the spoon under the tap and dries it off on a dishtowel before handing it back to Taako. Then he hops up to sit on the counter, swinging his legs back and forth as he watches the scones comes together.

“How was class today?”

Angus steals a chocolate chip from the bowl sitting among the ingredients and pops it into his mouth. Bittersweet, just how he likes it. “It was, you know, class.”

“You whipping those college kids into shape?”

“Mmhm,” says Angus, and steals another chip. He knows Taako sees, just as he knows Taako doesn’t care. “How about you, sir? How was your day?”

Taako waves one dough-covered hand in the air vaguely. “Same old.” He pauses, eyes on the scone batter, and then dumps the chocolate chips into the bowl. “Do you ever think our lives are too, y’know. Static? Boring?”

Huh.

Taako, Angus knows, is not the most mentally stable person, even if he tries his best to hide it. Whether it’s as a defense mechanism or as a way to shield Angus from his darker thoughts, Taako tends to hide his emotions behind a carefully constructed wall. Lup, it seems, is the only one allowed a glimpse behind it.

But Angus is a very smart boy, and he knows how to read people the same as if they were books. Taako has tells, as much as he tries to hide them—the downward cast of his eyes, the too-confident lift of his shoulders, the robotic movement of his hands as he stirs the chips into the dough. Taako has been thinking things today that have put him in a state of instability.

“Sometimes static is good,” says Angus. He thinks of the roaming he’d done after his grandfather had died, and how miserable he’d been. He thinks of the horrible sort of excitement that came from living with his parents, where everything was exciting and horrible, versus here, where everything is uneventful and safe. “Sometimes boring is good.”

Taako nods and robotically sticks a piece of dough in his mouth. “Yeah,” he says. “I guess.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Which do you think is better, cherry blossoms or pink roses?” says Hurley. “Or yellow roses? Ooh, or white. What about those tiny little ones? What if we did tiny little pink roses?”

Kravitz stares down at the pages and pages of photos of different arrangements from the florist. “Uh,” he says. Why are there so many different colors of roses? Why is he here again? Why doesn’t Hurley ask someone who knows anything about flowers?

“I like the pink,” says Sloane, nodding. She taps her finger on the photo of an arrangement of orange and pink flowers, the colors all fading together to create an illusion of the sunset. “This one’s nice. Kravitz, thoughts?”

Kravitz stares at the photo. “Sure,” he says.

Hurley and Sloane exchange a look across the table and then burst out laughing. Kravitz frowns, fully aware that he is the subject of their amusement and not entirely pleased about it.

“Okay, you’re clearly worn out,” teases Hurley, thumping him on the back with surprising strength for someone her size. Kravitz knows, though, that her stature is deceptive—under the sleeves of the knit sweater she’s wearing, she’s all muscle. “Let’s go get coffee.”

“Ooh, have you been to that new cafe on Maple yet?” says Sloane as she stands, leaving the floral album sitting open on the table. The two of them practically drag Kravitz out the door into the crisp fall air, chattering the whole way. “The coffee there is really good and the people are super friendly. Krav, you’ll love it, they have live music on Fridays.”

“It’s a Wednesday,” says Kravitz. He is ignored.

It’s only a few blocks from Hurley and Sloane’s townhome. Only a few blocks over leaf-covered sidewalks under a crisp blue sky. It’s beautiful out here, and Kravitz does have to admit that he feels better now that he’s outside and away from all the endlessly tedious wedding plans. He’s a conductor; he’s built to shape music, not plan meaningless and impossible important details. With music, he knows how to improvise around a mistake, but with the wedding everything has to be perfect. He loves Hurley and Sloane so very much. He can’t mess this up for them.

He needs a break.

“Here we are,” says Hurley, and drags him around a corner and into the coffee shop. The gold letters painted on the window dub it _The Davy Lamp_ and a cheerful bell chimes over the door as they enter. The coffee shop is quiet at the moment; 4am on a Wednesday afternoon is far from prime time, after all.

They order. They drink their coffee (“I can’t believe you just drink it black,” says Hurley, scrunching up her face as she takes a sip of her hazelnut mocha) and eat their scones and then they head back home.

“Hey, Krav,” says Sloane, and points through the window of a beauty salon as they pass. “I hear this place is really nice. Maybe you can stop in there before the wedding, clean up a bit.” She wiggles her eyebrows and smiles a bit to show that she’s joking, but Kravitz is tugging self-consciously on the end of one of his many braids and thinking about how he wants their wedding to be absolutely perfect. He’d forgotten to apply that same perfection to himself.

It’d give him an excuse to go back to the cafe, anyway. The coffee there really had been something.

 

* * *

 

 

Lup gets home to the smell of baked scones and the sight of her brother and kid passed out on the couch, all snuggled up with the dull murmur of the tv still playing before them. She takes a moment to watch them with a small smile on her face, even going so far as to snap a picture with her phone camera. Angus is almost entirely on top of Taako, face all smooshed into his shoulder, and he’s wearing that big sweater Magnus gave him last year.

It’s really very sweet.

Lup pulls off her boots and slips quietly into the kitchen, where two dozen pumpkin scones sit steaming on a baking rack. She grabs one and takes a big bite; they’re good, of course, but she would have put more cinnamon. She laughs to herself as she imagines Taako’s expression if she told him that. _Not everything needs that much cinnamon, Lup._ It’s one of their few points of contention.

She puts the kettle on and leans back against the counter as it comes to a boil. The apartment is impossibly serene, like this; the kettle boiling, the scones cooling, her family asleep on the couch. It’s been a long day at work but she always has this to come back to, and even if it’s a tiny apartment and the money is always a concern, life is good.

It was a long path to get here.

Lup makes earl grey. She stirs in a teaspoon of sugar and a splash of milk and carries it with her to the living room, where she curls up on the worn blue armchair. She grabs the remote from the coffee table and turns the tv off, and then she just watches her family sleep.

Angus’ eyes blink open a bit when the sound of the tv dies. She smiles at him and taps a finger to her lips, and he smiles back before closing his eyes again.

She and Taako never had this, growing up. It was place after place after place, always shifting, always moving, always on the balls of their feet, afraid to settle. Unable to settle, with the way the world turned on them. There was never warmth. There was never serenity. There were no quiet evenings cuddled on the couch with fresh-baked scones and earl grey tea.

They had to work for this, and she’s so, so proud of them. The world tried to beat them down but they’re tougher than that. And now, they’ve shaped lives for themselves, they’ve shaped a home, and they’ve let people in.

Before, it was just Taako and Lup against the world. Now it’s Taako and Lup and Angus and all the friends they’ve allowed themselves to make.

Lup pulls a knit blanket off of the back of the armchair and over her legs. She smiles.

She’s content. Like this, she’s content.

Not everything’s perfect, of course. There are still rude customers at both of their jobs, and the rent is tough, and they’re never home as much as they want to be. They both still have nightmares. Taako is sometimes still afraid to cook. But things are better than they ever were, and Lup is intent on keeping it that way.

She looks up from a sip of her tea and realizes that Taako is awake and watching her. “Hey,” she says, quiet so as not to wake Angus.

“Hey,” says Taako. Very carefully he extracts a hand from beneath the sleeping boy and brushes some hair away from his eyes. “How was work?”

“Eh, you know, it was work.”

“Right.” A pause. “Alex ditched on you again?”

Lup rolls her eyes. Taako, always so dramatic. “He didn’t ditch. He had a family emergency. Something about a cousin going missing or something.”

“Sounds like an excuse to me.”

His tone is suspiciously flippant, which means he’s been having a rough day. This isn’t unusual. They’ve both been through the ringer, but Taako made some mistakes that mean he’s had it much worse than her. Sometimes, their lives of warm serenity aren’t enough for him. Taako is meant to shine, and like this, he can’t.

She gets that. She also sees right through him, and he’s an idiot for thinking he can hide it from her of all people.

“Yeah, okay, babe,” says Lup. She sets her mug down on the coffee table and moves over to the couch, swatting at him with one hand. “Move over.”

“You’ll wake Ango!” he protests, but shifts over anyway, leaving room for Lup to squish in beside him. Angus is all tucked between them and if he wakes up, he doesn’t show it other than snuggling in a little deeper. Taako looks down at him, face caught in an expression of one hundred percent open and vulnerable fondness, and Lup feels something warm flip over in her chest. Precious.

Angus is good for both of them, but especially Taako. He gives him something to care about other than Lup. He’s a chink in Taako’s perfect, ice cold armor.

He needs that.

In turn, Angus has a home. He has a family. He has the warmth and peace that they never had at his age. They’d found him all alone and taken him home, because no one deserves what they went through. Especially not Angus.

Lup leans sideways and rests her head on top of Angus’ curls. She hears Taako sigh as he burrows further down into the mess of cuddles, and then all three of them are still except for the steady rise and fall of their chests. It is warm and calm, and Lup’s eyes drift shut.

She falls asleep like that, because she’s safe. This is safe.

It’s nice.

It's home.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so yeah nothing much happens this chapter but i gotta set the scene somehow. things will start to pick up soon.
> 
> thanks for reading! drop me a comment and/or come visit me on [tumblr](https://thepensword.tumblr.com)/[twitter](https://twitter.com/thepensw0rd)


	2. spark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> iiiiiii hate this chapter but it's been sitting nearly-completed on my computer for half a year so if i don't post it now i will literally never finish this story. i apologize if some of the writing is iffy; it IS six months old. also, the ending's probably a little rushed, because BOY i want to get to the next chapter, but i promise the writing quality will increase next time. 
> 
> i don't know how obvious it is but this isn't my usual genre so just. bear with me.

It’s three o’clock in the afternoon when the bell over the door jingles and Taako rolls his eyes from where he’s slumped in the chair, absentmindedly clacking the scissors open and shut. The woman in the chair next to him shoots him a look as he puts the scissors down on the counter and lopes towards the front of the salon, pasting a fake smile on his face in expectation of the next client.

He’s expecting more of the Same-Old-Same-Old. What he gets is a handsome man with a sharp jawline and broad shoulders and oh, shit, Taako is gay as fuck. 

“Hey, there,” says Taako, and drapes himself over the reception desk. Ren shoots him a look and elbows him away from the expensive computer monitor. “Is this my new client, Ren?”

“Yep,” says Ren. Then, because she’s a traitor and she’s awful, she says, “Don't get distracted, Taako.” 

The client's forehead knots up in confusion. He tugs on the end of one of his braids and says, “Um. What?”

Taako takes the time to kick Ren subtly from behind the desk before sticking a hand out for the man to shake. “She’s teasing. She sure loves to tease, don’t you, Ren? I’m Taako.”

“Uh. Kravitz.”

Taako flashes a grin that he hopes come across as friendly. “Well, step into my office,” he says, and gestures back into the salon. Kravitz follows him quietly, nice black shoes tapping over the tiled floors. Taako watches his (very handsome) reflection in the mirrors they pass and tries to pretend that's not what he's doing.

“Alright, Kravitz,” says Taako, tasting the way the name feels in his mouth. “Have a seat.” He gestures to the cracking black leather of the chair and smiles his most dazzling smile. He picks up a comb just for the show of it and leans against the counter of his station and lifts his eyebrows and says, “What are we doing today?”

Kravitz just sort of blinks at him. “What are we doing?”

God save him from attractive dumbasses. “With your hair?” he prompts, and the expression that flashes across Kravitz’s face is frankly adorable. 

“Oh, right,” says Kravitz, and they move on with the appointment, and Taako twists dark hair into tight, elegant locks and wraps them in gold and is filled with a bizarre sense of dejá vu—there's something about the way the hair feels between his fingers, something about the glint of the gold in the light.

He brushes it away. Dejá vu is a common thing, for him. Perhaps he should be sleeping more.

They finish too soon, and Taako winks at Kravitz as he leaves. There’s a warm feeling in his chest, Taako reflects, a tiny ember burning alongside the fires of Lup and Angus and Magnus and Merle. 

Maybe Angus had a point about the virtues of a bland life. 

Ren makes a sort of humming noise. He turns to find her smiling at him, one elbow on the desk, chin propped up in her palm. 

“What?” snaps Taako.

Ren’s smile turns into a grin, and she winks knowingly. “Nothing.”

Taako swats a hand at her and she ducks away from it, laughing. “You’re a little shit,” says Taako, and Ren scrunches her nose up and shoos him away from the reception desk. 

“I’m not a little shit if I’m right!” she yells after him, and her giggles chase him all the way into the back room where he collapses on the old leather couch with a sigh. He’s smiling, though, and the warm feeling is still there.

Today is a good day.

 

* * *

 

 

Today is a terrible day.

It’s terrible because it’s raining out. It’s raining and gross and the thing about rainy gross weather is nobody wants to do anything but sit at home in pajamas. When they must go out, people are lethargic and unenthusiastic and largely useless.

Barry Bluejeans, community college professor, _hates_ November. 

“Alright,” he says, and massages the bridge of his nose underneath his glasses. “Enough, I can tell you’re all going to be useless today. Just finish your worksheets and I’ll let you go early.”

The classroom fills with the shuffling of paper and the increasingly excited scratching of pencils as his students rush to finish up, motivated by the idea of getting to go home to their blankets and television sets. He doesn’t begrudge them this; he remembers what it was like being in school, and even now he knows how hard it is to get anything done on days like this. 

Barry stretches his hands over his head and yawns. His eyes close reflexively as he does so and when they open again, he finds himself looking at Angus.

Angus McDonald is the brightest young man Barry has ever met. He’s startlingly intelligent, fiercely enthusiastic, and incredibly mature. He’s kind and adorable and overall a delight to be around. Barry’s never had a TA as good as Angus before, and the kid is all of twelve years of age. He should be off getting a degree at an Ivy League school, not grading papers.

(Really, thinks Barry, he should be out playing with children his age, running around and getting into trouble in the way that only twelve year old boys can, but that’s another story entirely.)

The point is, Barry opens his eyes and spots Angus staring out the window with a frown. The drizzle has surged back into a downpour again and droplets race down the glass, the gray light of the outdoors glinting off of the round lenses of Angus’ glasses. Sometimes Barry’s wishes he could read the boy’s mind, if only to get an insight into the advanced clockwork of his thoughts. He can be hard to read, for a child his age.

“Angus,” says Barry quietly, and leans across the desk. “You alright?”

Angus startles and tears his eyes away from the window. “Oh, I’m sorry sir, I zoned out a bit there! What did you say?”

“I asked if you’re alright. You seem…distant.”

“Oh.” Angus’ gaze skitters sideways sheepishly and his mouth twists up into an embarassed sort of thing. “Um, it’s nothing. I was just thinking that Lup and Taako have late shifts today and I usually walk home but I forgot to bring an umbrella and, well, actually it’s alright, sir, I’ll just go into the library and wait there until one of them can come get me.”

Barry frowns. There’s no reason for Angus to be sitting around by himself in an empty library waiting for the rain to end, especially not when Barry has a perfectly functional minivan sitting out in the lot. “Angus, I can give you a ride home if you need it.”

Angus’ eyes widen behind his lenses. “Oh, would you, sir? That would be really really helpful but you don’t have to, really.”

“No, it’s no problem,” says Barry. “You’re not that far, anyway. You want to text Taako or Lup and give them a heads up?” 

“Thank you, sir!” says Angus enthusiastically, and pulls out his phone. Barry finishes stacking papers and packing up his bag and stands by the door, waiting. Angus sends off a quick text and then bounces towards him, grabbing his backpack on the way, and the two of them leave the classroom together, Barry locking the door behind him.

Outside, the drizzle has only worsened. Barry and Angus stand under the awning as Barry fumbles for the right key. “It’s that one, there,” says Barry, pointing to his spot. “After I unlock it we’re gonna have to run for it, alright? I think I have a towel in the back if we get too soaked.”

Angus blinks at him and blinks at the car and says, “Oh.”

Here’s the thing about Barry’s car.

It’s almost thirty years old. Every part in it, including the steering wheel and engine, has been replaced at least once. If he’s being honest, most of them have been replaced twice, or maybe three times or even more. Barry, if asked, tends to blame this on his scientist’s need to tinker. The truth of the matter is that the car is just that old, and it shows in the dented side paneling and obviously out-of-date frame. But Barry loves his car. Replacing it would feel like replacing an old friend.

“Oh, don’t worry about the Jeanmobile,” says Barry, patting Angus’ shoulder reassuringly. “It’s in better shape than it looks. I just had it inspected last week, and everything’s up to date. All the parts are new. Ish.”

Angus’ mouth drops open a little bit. “Um,” he says. “The Jeanmobile?”

“Yeah! The seats and steering wheel are all upholstered in denim, so it’s the Jeanmobile.”

Angus is staring at him. The rain continues to fall. Barry finds the right key. 

“It was uh….a joke. Cuz. Yknow. Bluejeans? Blue car? Haha….uh.” Barry clears his throat and pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Let’s just go. You ready to run?”

“Uh….” Angus gives himself a shake, and Barry can almost see all the follow-up questions cascading off of him like water from a dog. “Right. Uh, yes sir.”

“Awesome,” says Barry, and unlocks the car door. Together they sprint across the parking lot in the pouring rain, and when they clamber into the Jeanmobile they’re soaked regardless. Barry instructs Angus to reach over the back seat and grab the spare towel out of the trunk and they both take turns drying themselves off as best they can.

“See,” says Barry, and flips on the admittedly somewhat unreliable heat. “That wasn’t so bad. Seatbelt on.”

Angus dutifully clips his seatbelt and makes a futile attempt to wipe off his glasses with his damp shirt. He only succeeds in making it worse, so Barry pulls an eyeglasses wipe out of the glovebox and hands it back towards him before using it himself.

“Alright, Ango, give me an address,” says Barry. Angus rattles off the address and then they’re off, puddles splashing as they pull out of the parking lot and away from the school. The rain is persistent as they drive, and Barry pities anyone who has to be out in this weather. It’s not terribly cold out, but with the periods of drizzle and downpour the whole city seems to be under a gloom of gray and wet. Nevertheless, life carries on, and the sidewalks are dotted by colorful umbrellas and the puddles shine yellow with the reflected light of shop windows, open for business as usual. They pass by homes and restaurants and boutiques and coffee shops, and the Jeanmobile’s heat is, for once, proving effective as the car heats up inside to a comfortable temperature and Barry and Angus start to dry off. The conversation between them is comfortable, too, staying light and sometimes sporadic but still friendly and enjoyable. That’s the thing about Angus; he’s so bright that conversation with him is always a wonderful, engaging thing.

In the end, however, the ride is a short one. The Jeanmobile pulls up to an unassuming apartment complex and Barry parallel parks on the street. “This the right place?” he asks.

“Oh, yes sir!” says Angus. “Thank you for driving me, sir!”

“It’s no trouble, Angus,” says Barry, and pulls the keys out of the ignition. “Hold up, let me walk you to the door.”

Angus’ head cocks to the side in a gesture that is, frankly speaking, fucking adorable. “Oh, no, sir, you don’t need to do that, it’s alright.”

“Nonsense,” says Barry. “I don’t feel right just dropping you off and leaving. It’s not far, anyway. I just want to make sure you get in okay.”

Angus frowns for a moment, and then shrugs and nods. “Okay, sir, if that’s what you want.”

Barry smiles and together they dash across the sidewalk into the cover of the apartment building, perfectly timed with another sudden torrent of heavy rain. They stop inside the door, take one look at each other—soaking wet yet again—and burst into hysterics. Water runs into Barry’s eyes and down his cheeks and he’s not sure if it’s his hair or tears of laughter, but after several moments he does manage to catch his breath. “Alright, bud,” he says, and bumps Angus’ shoulder gently. “Let’s get you home and dried off, huh?”

Angus beams up at him from behind now-rain speckled glasses and nods. “Yes, sir!” he says, and Barry is overcome with the very powerful urge to ruffle the kid’s wet hair until it’s even floofier than it already is. He resists said urge because he’s a teacher and this is his TA and that would be inappropriate and probably condescending, but damn is this kid cute. With a rueful shake of his head he sticks his hands in his pockets and follows Angus up the cement staircase to his apartment. 

Angus’ door, like all the others, is painted a dark forest green that’s chipping in places, set in an old doorframe that’s probably seen better days. Before the door, however, is a bright red welcome mat reading _kitchen staff only_ in swirling gold letters. It’s super tacky. Barry kind of loves it. 

“You've got a key, right?” Barry checks, and Angus nods. But before he can fetch it, the door swings open and a woman is standing there, framed by the golden light that floods out from the apartment beyond. She opens her mouth to say something, and then her eyes meet Barry’s, and. Oh.

Oh.

He’s seen Lup before, of course, but usually it’s from a distance. The most interaction they’ve had is her wave through his window as she comes to walk Angus home from the college, or brief discussions over the phone that usually relate to “ _Angus is sick”_ or _“Angus needs the day off_ ” or “ _is it okay for Angus to bring home-baked cupcakes to share with the class?”._ Objectively, Barry had known that Lup was a beautiful woman with a bright personality, but up close he’s suddenly confronted by it, and he can feel his cheeks heating up despite the cold and the wet. 

Her eyes, where they meet his, are a vibrant turquoise color that has him immediately transfixed. Subtle freckles dot her nose and cheeks like so many constellations. He’s never noticed before. She’s got tattoos curling along her arms and disappearing beneath her clothing; flames on the left, flowers on the right. Her hair is a golden halo, dyed-red curls escaping the bun that’s piled atop her head.

She looks like a goddess, basically. Barry’s getting a little light-headed. Here he is, soaked through and not even wearing his _nice_ button-down. Why’d he even come up here again? Oh, right, Angus.

“Ango!” says Lup, and Barry sags as those fucking stunning turquoise eyes leave him to focus on the now-shivering form of his most favorite TA. “You’re all wet!”

Angus frowns adorably. “That’s because it’s raining,” he says sagely. “I thought you had the late shift today?”

“I did,” says Lup, and moves forward to yank his soaking shoes off of his feet for him, “but Alex finally showed up and said he’d take my shift cuz I took his the other day, so I’m home early. I was just about to call you but no need, I guess.”

“Is his cousin still missing?” 

“Who, Alex? Yeah. Sucks, right? I told him he should take some time off but he’s gotta pay the bills somehow I guess. Oh, hey, you’re Professor Bluejeans, right? I’m Lup. We’ve spoken on the phone I think.”

And suddenly that focus is turned his way again. Barry shakes her hand where she offers it, half in a trance. “Uh, yeah. You can call me Barry.”

Lup smiles. (Wow.) “Nice to meet you, Barold. Thanks for driving Angus. You’re all wet, huh? Why don’t you come in and dry off a bit, wait for the rain to stop.”

Barry opens his mouth to politely refuse, but apparently the offer was less of an offer and more of an order because he blinks and he’s sitting in a chair in Lup’s kitchen, shoes off and towel around his shoulders as Lup disappears to find some clothes that might fit him. 

There’s the scrape of a chair over tile and Angus sits down across from him, now wearing pajama bottoms and a red sweater that’s at least three sizes too big for him. He opens up a newspaper that’s also comically large and starts pouring over it with a pencil, jotting down notes in the margins.

“Anything interesting?” asks Barry.

“Hm?” Angus lifts his head up, pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose when they slide down with the movement. “Oh, not much. I solved the crossword puzzle this morning. There’s this weird string of disappearances, though. I’m trying to see if I can solve it.”

Barry blinks. “Solve it?”

“Yes, sir! I like to try and solve cases before the police do. I’m very good at it. One time I even called them and told them who the culprit was and how I figured it out and the person got arrested, all before they could figure it out themselves.” He smiles winningly. “I don’t mean to be braggy but I’m a very good detective.”

Barry thinks of Angus’ meticulous class work and lightning fast solutions to math problems. “I bet you are,” he says. 

Angus beams. It’s like the sun coming out. Jesus, the kid is adorable. 

“Whatcha talking about?”

Lup is back, leaning against the door frame with a bundle of clothes in her arms. As Angus and Barry turn in unison to look at her, she enters the room fully and places the clothes on the table in front of Barry. 

“I was just telling Professors Bluejeans about my cases!” says Angus brightly. “There’s a few leads in this article, actually. It’s pretty interesting.”

“That’s my detective,” says Lup, and boops his nose with her finger. His face crinkles up and he leans away, but he’s smiling.

“World’s greatest,” he says, and pushes his glasses up his nose again. “Not to be braggy or anything.”

Lup laughs and sits on the table “Oh, of course not,” she says. “Wouldn’t want to be braggy.”

“Of course not,” parrots Angus.

Lup rolls her eyes and turns that smile on Barry, who feels for a moment a bit like a deer in headlights. “Alright, so I don’t know if these will fit but our friend Magnus has a tendency to stay over and leave clothes everywhere,” she says, tapping the folded up sweatshirt and sweatpants sitting on the table between them. “They might be a bit big but at least they’re dry, yeah?”

“At least they’re dry,” echoes Barry, because he’s not fully sure he can form sentences right now and playing echo is a safer bet probably. She’s really close. There’s freckles on her hands, too.

“If you go change into those I can pop yours into the dryer for you,” says Lup. Then she claps her hands together and stands, snapping Barry out of his haze. “While you’re doing that, either of you want some tea? Ooh, or cocoa. Hey, Ango, cocoa?”

“Yes, please!” beams Angus. “But, Lup, Professor Bluejeans is lactose intolerant.”

Barry blushes. He’s not really sure why that’s embarrassing all of a sudden but right now it seems like a really big deal for some reason. 

“Oh, good to know,” says Lup. “I can make yours with water, then. Unless you prefer coffee? Tea?”

“Uh.” He should refuse, probably. He should be getting home. He’s got papers to grade. But Lup is smiling at him and it’s still raining out and he doesn’t need to go _just_ yet, does he? “Uh. Coffee’s fine, if that’s alright. I drink it black.”

Lup flashes him a thumbs up and heads towards the stove. “You got it. Two cocoas and one black coffee coming right up.”

As she busies herself with the drinks, Barry goes into the bathroom and changes into the clothes Lup gave him. They aren’t _big_ on him, really; no, they’re fucking _massive_. How big is Lup’s friend?

By the time he rejoins them at the table, Lup has finished the drinks. She smiles at him when he hands her his wet clothes and he feels his heart stop for a moment before she leaves to put them in the dryer. He sits as soon as she’s gone, sinking into the chair a bit shakily. He feels faint. Angus raises an eyebrow at him over his steaming mug of cocoa but doesn’t comment.

The next hour or so passes in a bit of a blur for Barry. Lup and Angus strike up a lively conversation which thankfully both of them are very good at keeping up without much input for Barry, because he's honestly struggling to keep up right now. It’s not that he doesn’t _want_ to talk to Lup. It’s just that...she’s just…

Maybe he’s sick. Maybe one of his students gave him a cold or something. Maybe that’s why his face feels so hot, and why his heart is beating so fast, and why words seem so far from his tongue right now. Yes, that must be it, he tells himself. He must be coming down with something.

Foooooor sure.

Eventually, though, their mugs are empty and the rain slows to a thin drizzle. It’s still pretty miserable-looking outside, but it’s light enough that Barry knows he can get to the car without getting rained on too much. 

“Thank you for letting me wait in here,” says Barry, now back in his own clothes and standing just outside the door.

“No problem!” says Lup. “Thanks for driving Angus. And hey, I had fun. Feel free to drop by again, if you want. Angus speaks very highly of you.”

“Oh,” says Barry, and then shakes his head. “Right. Sorry. Thank you. Um, yes. No...no problem for driving Angus. He’s. Great.”

Lup laughs and Barry worries for a second that maybe his cheeks have actually caught flame. “See you, Barold,” she says, and finally the door swings shut between them.

“Yeah,” says Barry to the closed door. “See you.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> barry bluejeans, everyone.
> 
> (i will say. even though i hate this chapter? i stand by the jeanmobile as my greatest creation ever)
> 
> drop a comment if you like. didn't hate it? or visit me on [tumblr](https://thepensword.tumblr.com)


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